


Rewind the exit

by DeanaWinchester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love, Fix-It, Grief/Mourning, Grieving Dean Winchester, Grieving Sam Winchester, M/M, Post-Episode: s15e18 Despair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:40:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27455128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeanaWinchester/pseuds/DeanaWinchester
Summary: "Rewinding the exit wound, I'm holding on to you'Cause I need words like anyone, and I need love like everyoneWith those words I'm strong enough, and I need love like everyone." (Rewind the exit by Volbeat)Obligatory 15x18 fix-it.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester (mentioned)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 146





	Rewind the exit

**Author's Note:**

> Partially inspired by the gorgeous art of Jackie [winchester-reload.tumblr.com](https://winchester-reload.tumblr.com/post/185909473095/delicate-this-thing-between-me-and-you-every)
> 
> Thank you to Kelly for betaing!

It's over. It took just a day – a painful, grueling whirlwind of a day, but it's finally over. Chuck's gone, the world is back on its axis as it should be, most of its population awoken from non-existence like it was merely a fever dream, but the factory reset was the last one in a row of tasteless jokes and it left things cruelly incomplete.

“Now, I'm getting him back,” Dean says. He doesn't specify whom he means – he knows it full well, and he's certain Sam does, too. “Don't know how, but I will.”

“Dean...”

“Don't. Don't say anything. I have to.”

“You can't start poking cosmic entities again! I know it's Cas, but -”

“You don't know, Sam, you don't!” Dean's voice wobbles as his volume rises, unbidden and unwanted tears gathering in his eyes. “Don't tell me you don't want Eileen back!”

“Of course I do, but not at any cost. We broke the world more than once, only just put it back together, we can't keep doing it over and over again.”

“It's _Cas_ ,” Dean chokes out, as if Sam didn't know, even though he said the same words barely a minute earlier. But something must be in the way he says the name, or maybe on his face while he says it, because Sam's frustrated expression softens, but the look of pity that replaces it is probably worse.

“He's your...” Sam hesitates, his loss for a fitting description clear as day. “Eileen...?” He finishes, intonation halfway between that of a question and a statement. Dean nods mutely, because of course Sam knows _that_ , too. Because keeping it to himself is just impossible at this point and there's no real reason to hold it in anyway. “I'm sorry,” Sam says then, and Dean turns his back on him as a form of escape.

Oh, yes, it _is_ worse. Because Sam lost people too, but somehow, his focus is suddenly on Dean's pain and only on Dean's pain. _Too much, stop, I can't_ , Dean wants to yell, but all his energy is gone, sapped away; the way he sinks into the Impala's front seat is barely a thought more coordinated than a collapse into unconsciousness. Temporarily, Sam seems intent on stumbling around the car to take the passenger seat as usual, but in the end he pulls the rear door open, settling in behind Dean instead.

Dean's grateful for the distance, for being out of Sam's sight, and because he wants to give his brother the courtesy he is getting, he doesn't turn around, even when there's barely muffled sobs coming from the backseat. As he listens to the sounds of Sam's slowly subsiding anguish while less than an inch away from the edge himself, he doesn't think that any of it was even remotely worth it. Sure, they exist, and so does Jack, but it can't be called surviving when they lost everything they fought for, and suddenly there are limits to omniscient control that weren't there before.

Now, Jack's the Light, the Darkness and probably a million other things, because of course the Universe would decide to trust a 3-years-old nephilim with that kind of responsibility, but he was still powerless against their loss. All the Apocalypse World refugees are gone, like they never existed – which, technically is true; so are Eileen and C... Dean can't even finish the name, like he's reached the posting limit with the one out-loud use of it earlier. He wonders how he and Sam are still kicking, if anyone who died and was brought back is meant to remain permanently gone, why didn't they go, too, when the reset happened? Dying is not the hard part, staying behind is, if Sam's quieting sobs and Dean's... well, everything are to go by.

Jack appears outside the Impala, a pained expression on his face. He looks smaller than he is, and so, so young. He crouches down next to the open door on the driver's side, looking up at Dean.

“I have no access to the Empty, not without dying. I can't try to bring him back, I'm so sorry,” Jack reports without any preamble, and Dean's entire being feels squeezed. _Of course he couldn't_.

“It's not your fault, kid,” he croaks out eventually, and Jack nods solemnly in reply before moving over to the back door, opening it. Dean still doesn't turn.

“Sam.”

“Jack!” Sam sounds surprised, almost as if he hasn't even noticed his presence before. There's a rustle, the leather of the backseat creaks and the Impala wobbles slightly. Dean assumes it's because Sam slid over and Jack sat down.

“I found Eileen. She's in Heaven.”

“Is she... is she happy?” Sam asks, his voice pained.

“She is at peace, and in time, she will be happy. I opened up her Heaven, she is free to move around. She was on her way to her parents when I left her. She misses you, and asked me to tell you that she loves you,” Jack pauses, and Sam hiccups. “I offered her a chance to come back, but she knows it may upset the new balance. She decided not to risk it, but she'll be waiting for you.”

A loud wail-like sob breaks out of Sam, and it's too much for Dean to take, so he scrambles out of the car, desperate for air, for escape. With a sudden surge of energy he breaks into a run, blindly dashing past the church Chuck chose as the set for his famous final scene, past crumbling headstones, then trees until he runs out of ground and trips, falling to his knees. The sobs he fought so hard to keep hold of escape, and Dean screams to Heaven, to Hell, to the Empty and all of the in-between till his throat is raw, till all he wants is to curl up against a tree, to sleep, to black out, to d...

“Dean.” Sam's voice is strained. Dean doesn't ask how he found him, doesn't need to. “Let's go home.”

“I can't drive right now.”

“I know. Jack has already mojoed the car home, he'll be back for us.”

* * *

The Bunker is haunted. It's haunted by two faint apparitions of humanity who mostly pass each other by in the corridors like ships in the night, silent and distant.

Dean prays. Every morning, every evening, and most waking hours between the two, he prays. He doesn't know if Cas can hear him, but the _faith_ that he can is all Dean has, so it has to be enough.

It's not enough. Yet Dean clings to it, because if he doesn't have that, he doesn't have anything. He prays out loud, he prays in his thoughts and he prays by touching the bloody handprint on his jacket. It's prayers he mumbles into his whiskey, sobs into his pillow, pounds into the punching bag in their gym, kneads into the dough he keeps making despite barely eating any of the resulting pies.

Sam is slightly quicker to get back on his feet. Dean can still see him wobble, of course he can, and he wants to help him stay upright, but considering himself the stronger brother, the protector, the grown-up, has never before been a lie this big.

When, a few weeks later, Sam suggests a simple hunt, a restless spirit not even strong enough to kill yet, Dean goes along not for himself, but for his brother.

When he lands in a broken heap after being thrown from a third-floor window, and he can see someone - who he assumes is Billie's successor – out of the corner of his eye, beckoning him, he _doesn't_ go along for his brother, no matter how much he wants to, deep down. Everything hurts but he fights, and prays as long as he can stay awake.

When he wakes, nothing hurts but it doesn't feel real. He's back in the Bunker, under the covers on his memory foam mattress.

Someone sniffles just outside his field of vision, and Dean assumes it's Sam, or maybe Jack, but then the someone whispers his name. Dean sits up in a fluid motion, as if a spring wrenched him upright, and he turns his head to see tearful blue eyes.

“Am I dead?” Dean asks, because that's the only possibility, it cannot... _he_ cannot...

“No. You're alive.”

“Am I hallucinating?”

“No, you're not,” Cas says softly and moves closer to lay a hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean _feels_ it. He swings his heavier-than-lead legs around and drops his feet to the floor, one on either side of Cas who stands rooted to the spot, holding on to Dean's shoulder with a tight grip.

“Cas,” Dean whispers and Cas all but crumbles, kneeling down in front of him. “Did you mean it?” Dean asks. There are other questions, hundreds of hows and whys, but this is the most important one, and Dean hopes he doesn't sound as much like a needy teenage girl asking it as he thinks he does. Cas doesn't seem to care either way, judging by the gentle smile on his face.

“Of course. I meant every word. I wasn't planning on telling you all of it, and I'm sorry for dumping it on you like that, but I thought that was my only chance.”

“I should've said it back. But I froze.”

“Dean, you don't have to say anything. When I said that just being in love with you was enough, I meant that too.”

“I know. You said you know you can't have what you want, but you can. You can have it, if you still want... it.” The ' _if you still want me_ ' part remains implied. "I should have said it back.”

Cas looks taken aback for a moment, then he seems to gather himself. “Do you want to say it now?” He asks, blue eyes wide and bright as he fixes them on Dean's. “I love you.” His voice carries the same warm, earnest determination it did... then, and for a moment Dean can almost hear the squelch of the Empty behind him, until the staccato beat of his wildly thumping heart reaches its loudest, trying to physically fit itself into Cas' palm which by now is resting right above it.

“I love you, Cas.” Letting go of the words is not only easier than Dean expected, but it's also freeing enough to make him understand how Cas could be so happy. Wanting to hang on to that feeling, he opens his mouth to say it again, but the attempt ends up lost between Cas' lips as they paint a kiss onto his.

Dean lifts his hands to cradle Cas' face so he could pull him closer, until it's just right, until it's perfect, actually; and he deepens their kiss then swallows Cas' faint whimper before pulling away, resting his forehead against the angel's.

“If I knew what having feels like...” Cas whispers then trails off, dipping in for another brush of lips, and Dean meets him halfway, wrapping both arms around the angel's shoulders. Cas is solid in his arms, alive and _there_. Dean can't get enough of it, of him, and squeezes tighter, allowing the kiss to fall into incoordination, because suddenly its importance is only secondary to holding onto Cas. He buries his face into the crook of Cas' neck, nuzzling the column of it, and Cas tilts his head to give Dean space to settle in, which he does, possibly for good. He babbles soundless, unsayable words into the angel's throat; breathes in his scent; sneaks a taste of his warm skin, because he can. Cas' breath hitches under Dean's ministrations, and it continues to stutter while Dean pops the buttons of the angel's dress shirt open, one by one, eventually freeing him from the cloth altogether, dropping it on the floor.

Dean doesn't mean it as a precursor to sex, there's not a hint of lust in his actions, and Cas appears to sense it but he helps Dean out of his layers anyway. The angel's slow touch ghosting its way up his bare stomach is reverent, light... as if he's expecting Dean to flutter away from underneath his fingertips like a fantasy, and Dean's so damn close to breaking he feels the cracks form, so it may just be an actual possibility. Cas' eyes are wrenched shut as he continues tracing patterns onto Dean's abs, over his ribs, every now and then flitting up to his collarbone, raking a blunt fingernail over it. Dean shivers - he has never been touched like this, he's never been _loved_ like this, and it's too much to handle. He closes his eyes to stop the overload, but it makes it worse, because Cas' fingers are the real magic ones, now digging firmer into his sides, then pushing on his shoulders, and he lets himself fall back onto the bed.

Suddenly, the sensation of Cas disappears and Dean panics, eyes flying back open in terror until they settle on Cas standing still above him, intense gaze fixed on him. Cas is trembling, and if Dean thought having the wrath of God on him was intense, he had another thing coming in the love of an angel.

“Come here, Cas,” he mumbles, and makes space for Cas to lie down. When he does, Dean props himself up on his elbow, leaning over him. 

Cas sighs. “I’m sorry for the way I left you.”

“You’re back now. That’s what matters.”

“When I heard you d-dying,” Cas falters and he gulps twice in quick succession, “I knew I had to fight my way back.”

“You're something else, you know that, right?”

“I hope that's a good thing,” Cas teases faintly, but his voice is so hoarse with emotions that it ruins the effect. Still, Dean chuckles, moving in to caress Cas' chest.

“I will show you just how good.” He attempts a flirtatious grin but what comes out instead is an almighty yawn. Cas laughs, obviously carefree and happy, his chest heaving under Dean's palm.

“Sleep, my love.”

“My love,” Dean echoes, barely a hint of a question in it, then fixes his mouth to Cas' for a lazy, drawn-out kiss. He fights the exhaustion creeping up on him as long as he can, but it wins out in the end, and Dean lets himself be pulled down on top of Cas, curling up into him in the process.


End file.
